


Chapter 12: Done is Done

by dc_comic_girl



Series: The Story of Mickey Milkovich [12]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gallavich, M/M, POV Mickey, POV Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 15:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dc_comic_girl/pseuds/dc_comic_girl
Summary: When Frank catches Mickey and Ian in the back room of the Kash and Grab, Mickey has to shut him down before he tells Terry.





	Chapter 12: Done is Done

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, here's the next chapter (done season 2! yay!)
> 
> I hope you guys like it, The opinions and prejudices held by these characters are not held by the author (me).
> 
> Characters and dialog do not belong to me. Enjoy!

“Okay, so if I want to find the equation of the ellipse, I just have to…divide the X and Y by co-vertex terms…wait…no…by the vertex terms…I think…wait…”

Ian looked down to consult his textbook before looking back up, quickly, as if to give the illusion he hadn’t looked at all.

“Okay, so X squared divided by A squared plus Y squared divided by B squared set equal to one…or…is it X squared divided by B squared…”

Mickey hadn’t expected to see Ian this morning. School had started back up for the year, and Ian usually didn’t come in until after 3 o’clock. His hours had picked back up again back in August, when Mickey had closed up for the day to go blow off some steam. Linda had decided Mickey couldn’t be trusted to be solely in charge of the store anymore, so Ian was back as more of a babysitter than anything else.

“Fuck!” Ian called out, irritated. “I forgot to shift the equation to account for it not being centred at the origin!”

He erased at his page furiously, and Mickey looked up from stacking cans of Alphaghetti. When Ian had walked in this morning, claiming a free period, Mickey had hoped he had stopped by for a quickie before class. Apparently, however, drawing stupid stretched out circles was more interesting, since that’s all Ian had been doing since he arrived.

“Okay,” Ian said calmly, letting out a Zen breath. “Let’s try this one: If my standard equation is X squared over a hundred plus Y squared over thirty-six set equal to one, then the X co-ordinate of my focus on the positive X axis is…”

“Eight,” Mickey answered, absent mindedly. He had been listening to Ian run through these formulas for the past forty minutes. It took him a minute to realize that, for the first time since he showed up, Ian was silent. Mickey chanced a look at the front counter. Ian was staring at him in awe.

“Did you just do that off the top of you head?” Ian asked, his eyes wide with admiration.

“Yeah…I don’t know…fuck off!” Mickey stuttered back uncomfortably. He felt heat rising in his checks from the way Ian was staring at him, and he turned back to stacking cans.

Ian stared at him a few seconds longer before letting out a frustrated sigh and running a hand through his short red hair.

“Well, it’s official – everyone can do math except me. I’m gonna fail the fuck out of that test,” He said gloomily, slamming the cover of his textbook closed. He walked out from behind the counter to where Mickey was stacking cans.

“Brother still not helping you?” Mickey asked. He had mixed feelings about Ian’s lack of geometry prowess. Sure, if Ian couldn’t get his marks up, he might not be able to get into West Point, but this moody, defeatist attitude was a new look for the redhead, and it didn’t suit him.

Mickey knew that Ian and Lip had been fighting for the last week of summer vacation. He caught an inkling that something was up when he came into work to find an entire fuckin’ watermelon splattered on the ground.

“The fuck happened here?” Mickey had asked as Ian knelt on the floor, cleaning up in silence.

“Lip,” Ian had replied tersely, not bothering to look up.

Mickey wanted to comment on the unoriginality of a Gallagher crushing a watermelon, but something in Ian’s demeaner told him it wouldn’t be well received.

For the next few days Ian fluctuated between bitter silence or ranting indignation. From what Mickey had gathered, Lip had never even mentioned Ian’s name to his contact in the military, and instead had taken the West Point recommendation for himself. Mickey had found this hard to believe. On the list of people Mickey thought would be able to bite their tongue and listen to higher ups, Lip Gallagher was dead fuckin’ last.

He had originally hoped this set back would deter Ian from his plan to go to West Point and had wondered if that was Lip’s master plan all along, but it had simply caused Ian to double down in his efforts. On top of this second wind, Ian was now dedicating as much time to talking about Karen Jackson as his older brother was – only his rants had far less to do with how Karen was throwing her life away; how she could do better than some douche named Chodie, and far more to do with how she was a whore and a skank and ruining the life of Lip, who was far too stupid to either notice or care. This was a conversational topic Mickey could get on board with. 

Ian sighed. “No, I mean, not ‘cause of the fight, but he’s getting back together with Karen, so that’s taking up a lot of his time.”

Ian scowled. There had been a thaw in him since a few days ago when he came into work with a bruise on his cheek and a split lip. He had explained that he kicked the shit out of Lip the night before in an attempt to knock some sense into him, and the fight seemed to have healed whatever was going on between them. There had been no thaw, Mickey noticed, directed to Karen Jackson.

“That’s a dumbass move,” Mickey mumbled, letting Ian know he had Mickey’s full support in hating Karen Jackson.

Ian gave him a half smile and then let out a groan and hit his head against the shelf.

“What the fuck am I gonna do about school? I’m never gonna get my grades high enough to get into West Point at this rate,” he pouted, hitting his head again.

“It’s like, two years away,” Mickey said, feeling lame in his attempt at comfort.

Ian leaned his head against the shelf and turned to look at Mickey. “Yeah, but I have to start bulking up my application now.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. He would much prefer to talk about what a slut Karen Jackson is than talk about West Point. Fuck, he would prefer to talk about what a poor victim Lip Gallagher is than talk about West Point. And all things equal, his first choice would be to not talk at all.

“Maybe you, uh, need to relax,” Mickey smirked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Ian looked at him for a minute and then broke into his own smile. Linda hadn’t called to them all morning, and since school started, the store had been a lot quieter in the daytime.

“I’ll get the door,” Ian said, eagerly, running to hang a crudely drawn _Back in 5 min._ sign.

_Jesus Christ, Gallagher, be cool_, Mickey thought as he walked to the back of the store, but he felt his own heart pounding and a smile tugging on his lips. Since Ian had decided to increase his West Point efforts, they had had considerably less time to fuck. It was a much greater source of disappointment than Mickey was willing to admit to himself.

By the time Mickey had his pants off, Ian had already joined him in the back of the store.

“Thanks for listening to me complain,” Ian said, slipping off his own belt.

“Whatever,” Mickey dismissed, taking off his security jacket.

“No, seriously, I think I would have gone crazy this past month if it weren’t for-”

“Eh, Gallagher,” Mickey interrupted, watching Ian take off his pants, appreciatively. “Shut the fuck up and fuck me.”

Ian grinned, and pressed a hand hard against Mickey’s chest, forcing him to lean back onto a metal shelf. The redhead grabbed Mickey’s legs and put them over his shoulders. He held Mickey’s eye line while he stuck two fingers into his mouth and drew them out, in what Mickey assumed was an attempt at seduction. Mickey wanted to tell him that he looked fuckin' stupid but felt himself harden in spite of himself.

_Traitor_.

Mickey would never admit it, but this was probably his favourite position with Ian. He liked being able to see his face…his eyes. It wasn’t like facing a girl during sex. It actually turned him on more to see Ian.

_Fuck, what the fuck is that? That’s so fuckin’ gay_, Mickey thought in frustrated horror. _You don’t want to see him. It’s just sex, you don’t care who’s on the other end of it. Don’t be such a fag_.

Between Ian’s steady rhythm and his own sexually fueled anxiety, the pace of Mickey’s heart continuously increased, until he heard something that made it stop completely.

“Hello boys.”

Mickey sat up so fast, he knocked a bottle of coke off the counter, and it shatter on the ground. Both he and Ian turned in the direction of the voice, which was coming from the other side of the cooler.

There, with a look of mild disinterest and a six pack, was Frank Gallagher.

“Front door was locked, so I came in the back,” Frank explained calmly, as if they were discussing the weather. “No pun intended,” he added with a look between them. “Might want to check the locks.”

He grabbed a jug of orange juice and closed the refrigerator door.

Mickey grabbed his pants and jacket, throwing them on with abandon. His mind was racing, but when he looked over at Ian, the boy looked only slightly annoyed.

By the time Mickey and Ian were dressed and out of the walk-in, Frank had filled a bag (undoubtedly with booze), and grabbed a handful of cash from the till.

“Um, I see that you’re preoccupied, so why don’t we put this little loan on my tab?” Frank suggested, waving the cash at them before putting it in his shirt pocket.

He walked towards the back door, but stopped before opening it, throwing up a mocking salute.

“As you were, sailors,” he offered as parting words, before walking out the door.

Mickey was so shell-shocked, he didn’t know what to do with himself. How the fuck could Frank be so calm? How could _Ian_? Their lives were over, and Frank fuckin’ Gallagher is cracking jokes? The door slammed behind him and Ian sighed, running a hand over his hair and walking towards the front of the store. His entire demeanor was that of someone who had just been told they had to work on his day off, not of someone who was about to be slaughtered by Terry Milkovich.

_No_, Mickey thought firmly. _Not gonna let that happen_.

It’s not like Terry caught them. Frank did. Frank caught them, so he just had to stop Frank from telling Terry, or telling anyone who would tell Terry, or telling anyone who would tell anyone who would…

“We gotta kill him,” Mickey said aloud, in sudden realization.

Someone knocked at the still locked front door and yelled to be let in.

“Fuck off,” Mickey ordered at the closed door. “Look, nobody will miss Frank, anyway. We shoot him in the head; we dump him in the river.”

Ian leaned against the counter and spoke levelly, as if he was speaking to a child who was overreacting.

“Look, he has a lousy short-term memory. He’s probably already forgotten.”

“Can’t chance that,” Mickey replied. He looked over at Ian, willing him to join him in justified alarm.

“I’ll talk to him,” Ian said calmly.

“Cut his hands off, pull his teeth; he can’t even be identified,” Mickey mapped out, more to himself than Ian.

“You stay here, watch the store. I’ll take care of it,” Ian instructed, walking towards the door.

_Really, Gallagher? Now? This is what you choose to have a level fuckin’ head over?_

“My Uncle Joe works at the foundry. He’ll dump the teeth into the chrome plating vat, and it’s done,” Mickey decided, taking off his security jacket and throwing it on the ground.

Ian turned around and walked back towards him.

“Mickey, you need this job for your probation.”

“No, what I _need_ is to take care of Frank and his big mouth.”

Why wasn’t Ian getting it? Why was he trying to protect this guy? He wasn’t even his real father, so why did Ian give a shit if he ended up at the bottom of the Chicago River? Was he scared? Was he worried that Mickey would make him do the dirty work? Nervous that he’d get sent off to juvie?

“Stay here,” Mickey directed. Ian didn’t need to worry. He would take care of it. Of them.

“This won’t take long.”

* * *

Mickey walked back into his house to find Iggy and Colin playing red hands like a couple of morons.

“Hey, you guys got plans today?” Mickey asked, opening his fridge and pulling out a beer.

“Was gonna dropped a Cialis and stroke it,” Iggy replied.

“I need help killin’ somebody,” Mickey said, opening the beer.

“Someone we care about?” Colin asked.

“No,” Mickey replied, taking a much-needed swig of the beer.

“Knife, gun, or tire iron?” Iggy asked, unphased by the request.

“Gun’s safest.” Mickey felt calmer now, speaking to rational people again.

“Mmm, not with today’s forensics,” Colin added, thoughtfully.

“Fine, a knife,” Mickey shrugged.

“That’s a lot of blood flow. One drop left behind, an’ that’s life in the joint,” Colin chimed in again.

_Jesus, fuck. We’re killing a drunken bum, not pulling off Ocean’s fuckin’ Eleven_.

“Why don’t you tell me, John Wayne Gacy?” Mickey sighed, exasperated.

“Kidnap and strangle,” Iggy suggested, as calm as Ian had been not ten minutes ago.

“Perfect,” Mickey agreed, needing to get this show on the fuckin’ road.

Mickey and Iggy opened the closet and pulled out a couple guns.

“Where’s your Rohypnol?” Iggy asked Colin.

“I ran out. That quinceañera over at Jamie’s,” Colin explained, apologetically. “I got plenty of duct tape.”

“Get it,” Mickey ordered, cocking his gun.

* * *

Mickey charged into the Alibi, Colin trailing close behind and scanned the room.

“Hey, what’s happening boys?” Kevin, the bartender called, slinging a rag over his shoulder.

“You seen Frank?” Mickey asked, skipping any pleasantries. He had seen this guy hanging around with Lip more than a few times, and if he was a fan of Lip, he was probably a fan of small talk. Mickey didn’t have the time or inclination for niceties today.

“Frank who?” Kevin asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Don’t give me ‘Frank fuckin’ who?’ How many people come in here named Frank?” Mickey spat out, losing what little patience he had.

“Hey, don’t get salty, sweetie,” Kevin replied, not seeming intimidated whatsoever. “There’s Frank Stinson, substitute math teacher – loves Sudoku. There’s Frank Salmon, comes in on Thursdays with his softball buddies. And there’s Frank Migneault, retired air traffic controller – playin’ pool.”

Kevin gestured around the bar, before turning back to the boys and Mickey felt his finger twitch towards the gun in the back of his pants. He didn’t have time for this fucker to get smart. He needed to find Frank before he had a chance to spill his guts.

“Frank _Gallagher_,” Mickey clarified.

“Check the Rusty Hammer. They got happy hour breakfast 9 to 11,” Kevin suggested, his stare unwavering. “He’s a bargain drinker.”

Mickey eyed Kevin and the patrons at the bar one last time, trying to catch any air of deception. He couldn’t see any.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the bar.

“Where now?” Colin asked, when they reached Iggy back on the sidewalk.

“Isn’t Frank stayin’ over at Daddyz Girl’s place?” Iggy suggested. He and Colin shared a look and a snicker, clearly thinking about the video Karen had shared around of her fuckin’ Frank.

Jesus Christ. Just what Mickey needed. To go on an exhibition to Karen Jackson’s house.

* * *

Mickey pounded hard on the door. No answer came, so he pounded again.

“Maybe they’re out,” Colin suggested.

“Nah, man, Sheila Jackson’s crazy as shit. Ain’t you seen her walkin’ around town?” Iggy laughed. To prove his point, he mimed large, dramatic steps, like he was wearing lead shoes. “She fuckin’ counts the steps away from her house.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and banged on the door again. He heard a lock unclick and a timid looking woman peaked her face through the open crack.

Mickey recognized Sheila Jackson. He had seen her drop off Karen at school a few times when they were kids. She always made rice crispy treats or cupcakes and let Karen bring them to school to share with the other kids. Karen had never shared with Mickey, but if he got to school when Sheila was still on the premises, she had often grabbed a sweet and handed one to him.

Iggy wasn’t wrong, she was definitely off her rocker, but of all the people Mickey thought could have opened the door, she was probably the best-case scenario, so he tried to keep his voice calm and unthreatening.

“Frank here?”

“No, no he’s not,” Sheila said, her voice kind but shaky. “I’m sorry boys, I’d invite you in, but it’s not the best time.”

“What smells like dog shit?” Colin asked bluntly.

Sheila’s eyes snapped to him and she opened her mouth to answer, but Mickey cut her off.

“Any idea where he is?”

Sheila scrunched up her face in thought. “Probably the Alibi or Fiona’s.”

Mickey turned around to walk away, but Sheila opened the door to call after them.

“If you find Frank, please tell him his mother had a fall!”

* * *

Mickey walked up to the Gallaghers' house. This was getting ridiculous. This whole endeavor was giving him Deja fuckin’ vu of a time when he had been running all over the better part of Chicago looking for _Ian_ Gallagher. These Gallaghers were fuckin’ slippery – when they didn’t want to be found, you wouldn’t fuckin’ find them.

He walked around to the side door of the house, leaving Iggy and Colin to guard the front door in case Frank made a run for it. He pounded on the door, hard.

Ian’s older sister opened the door, and without invitation, Mickey barged in.

“Frank here?” he asked, scanning the room.

“No,” Fiona answered. Her eyebrows were knit together in defiance and confusion. She was short and skinny, but there was something about her demeanor that made it seem like she could take down anyone she needed to.

Mickey turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to extrapolate. She didn’t. What the fuck was wrong with all these Gallaghers? Why were they protecting Frank? He knew for a fact they all fuckin’ hated him, so why cover his ass?

“When’s he gonna be back?” Mickey asked.

“For as long as I’ve been alive, I haven’t known the answer to that question,” she answered. Her answer was dismissive and disinterested. She wasn’t protecting Frank. She just didn’t give a shit.

“Fuck,” Mickey mumbled to himself, giving the room a final scan.

Fiona stood at the door, expectantly, daring him to say something else, but he stormed past her and out the door.

“He in there?” Iggy asked, as Mickey walked back up to them.

“Oh, yeah, I already offed and buried him in the two fuckin’ minutes since I went in,” Mickey answered, looking around him.

Where the _fuck_ was Frank?

* * *

They spent most of the rest of the day staking out in their car outside the Alibi. It was the only place Mickey knew Frank wouldn’t be able to stay away from for long.

Mickey knew both of his brothers had lost interest in this quest a long time ago, but he continued to watch the entrance to the bar vigilantly.

“Why we killin’ him again?” Iggy asked, like it had suddenly occurred to him that Mickey had never offered an explanation for the hunt.

“Raped a girl,” Mickey answered, smoothly, not taking his eyes off the door of the bar.

“Statutory or catch-and-release?” Colin asked from the backseat.

Suddenly the Alibi door opened, and Kevin walked out. He pulled out a key and turned towards the door.

“Shit, he’s locking up,” Colin observed, disappointed. “No Frank.”

Mickey threw his cigarette, only half smoked, out the window and started the car.

“Shit.”

* * *

They hadn’t been able to find Frank, and at some point in the night his brothers decided to get high and fall asleep rather than continue brain storming possible locations.

Mickey couldn’t sleep.

He knew what came next. He knew that none of the Gallaghers knew when to shut up. He knew Frank would tell someone and Terry would find out. He knew Terry would kill him, and that was if he was lucky. It was equally likely, Mickey figured, that Terry would track down Ian and kill him first and make Mickey watch.

The thought made Mickey’s stomach turn.

_It’s his fault for being gay_, he reminded himself. _The world would be a better place if all the fags just dropped dead_.

The thought didn’t comfort him. Somehow he wasn’t convinced the world _would_ be a better place if Ian Gallagher dropped dead.

Unable to sleep, Mickey walked the streets. Frank had been known to fall asleep on a bench or two, and Mickey hoped he’d get lucky and find him passed out in some park so he could get this whole ordeal over with.

As he passed the Kash and Grab, he saw that the back garage was slightly ajar, with wispy smoke coming out from underneath. Frank had broken in through the back of the store yesterday, so it stood to reason, he could be there now. He walked closer to investigate, but when he was within a few yards, he could see that Frank wasn’t the Gallagher sitting by the open garage door.

It was Ian.

Mickey leaned down and side stepped into the garage. Ian looked up at him. His face looked just as tired as Mickey’s and Mickey wondered vaguely if Ian had been able to get any sleep last night.

“Where is he?” Mickey asked. He tried to keep his voice calm, but he could feel panic seeping into it.

“I have no idea,” Ian answered, but he didn’t meet Mickey's eyes.

“He’s had 24 hours to run his mouth already. Where is he?” Mickey asked again.

“He won’t,” Ian replied, standing and taking a drag off his cigarette. He finally met Mickey’s eye line, and Mickey could tell he was trying to assure him.

Mickey took a breath. What the fuck was wrong with this kid? Why did he not understand what was going on?

“If my dad finds out about this, he will kill me himself,” Mickey said, as clearly as he could.

Ian shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away from Mickey.

“I’ve been to 16 bars, the homeless shelter, shantytown under the L, your house, batty Sheila’s – where the fuck is he?!” Mickey asked, spinning Ian around to face him. He felt both his temper and his voice rising.

“I don’t know!” Ian yelled back.

“Bullshit!”

Suddenly it hit him.

Ian had told Frank.

Ian had told Frank Mickey was coming for him and given him all the fuckin’ opportunity in the world to hide himself away. Mickey had been busting his ass to try and keep them from getting killed and Ian was actively working against him.

Mickey let out a mirthless laugh.

“You warned him.”

Ian looked caught in his betrayal.

“I hate him more than you do,” Ian called, trying to explain. As if there _was_ an explanation for choosing to protect Frank instead of Mickey.

Mickey walked over to the till and opened it. He pulled out all the cash that was in the drawer.

“I ain’t stealin’ this. This is less than what I’m owed for my hours this week. I’m done.”

“Done,” he added, pointing a hand up at the God forsaken cameras that Linda used to spy on them.

“Done,” he added, pointing at Ian, whose eyes were becoming increasingly glassy. Mickey had to look away as he slammed the cash register shut and walked towards the door.

“Frank’s walked in on Fiona and all of her boyfriends; walked in on Lip and his girls,” Ian babbled. “We got nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

“What fuckin’ world do you live in?” Mickey asked quietly, looking back up at him.

Ian stared at him for a minute, and Mickey could tell he was fighting back tears. He wanted to comfort him but dug his fingernails into his palms instead. Why should he care? Ian knew who Mickey's father was; knew what he’d do to him – to both of them, and _he_ didn’t care.

“You can’t- You can’t- I…ya know…I don’t want you to-” Ian stuttered, and walked closer to Mickey. Mickey felt his resolve weaken for a millisecond and then increase tenfold.

“What did I just say to you?!” Mickey yelled throwing his hands up and taking a step backwards and out of Ian’s reach. “Done is done. What? D’you think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, here? You’re nothin’ but a warm mouth to me.”

That had done it. Ian stopped stammering and stopped approaching. He dropped his arms and stared at Mickey, his green eyes dulling. Mickey felt the words hang in the room, between them, and he wished he could take them back, if only so Ian would stop looking at him that way.

He shifted his weight, uncomfortably and grit his teeth. He had said it. No going back now. Done is done.

“Sorry I gotta go kill your dad, but I’m doin’ a lot of people a favour,” Mickey said, turning towards the front door and shoving it open. “Including you.”

As he stormed down the street, part of him expected Ian to chase after him.

He didn’t.

* * *

“Frank’s at the Alibi!” Iggy yelled, running into the kitchen.

Mickey had been sitting at the table, polishing off whatever liquor he could find in the house. He pushed his chair out and stood up.

“I got this.”

“No, we got your back,” Iggy replied, indignantly.

“No, I know you do, but I got this,” Mickey insisted, opening up the gun closet.

“I hate rapists, too,” Colin joined in, standing from the table.

“Okay, so get the next one.” Mickey was tired of this. He just needed to kill Frank and have this done. He couldn’t think about this anymore. The combination of alcohol, fatigue, and guilt was chewing at his stomach and making his mind foggy.

“We’re coming,” Iggy said, decidedly.

“Grab a mask,” Colin suggested, opening another closet and throwing Mickey a JFK rubber mask.

* * *

Iggy had been right. Frank was at the Alibi. Unfortunately, being a fuckin’ good for nothing drunk, Frank _stayed _at the Alibi for another four hours. Mickey sat, in the car with his brothers, silently willing himself to hold onto his resolve.

Finally, the door to the bar opened, and out stumbled Frank.

“Run up a couple blocks,” Mickey instructed, cocking his gun. “I’m gonna come from behind, catch him in an ally, and get it done.”

The three Milkovich brothers climbed out of the car, and Iggy and Colin put on their masks, running a few blocks away to head off Frank.

Mickey put his own mask on top of his head and followed along behind. The man stumbled and swayed as he walked. He’d stop soon, and all Mickey would have to do is put a bullet in his head and this whole nightmare would be over.

_And Ian will never forgive you_.

So what? Why did he care? Whatever he and Ian had was just sex. And it was over now, so who gave a shit if he’d cry at his father’s funeral or not.

Mickey sped up his walk and could see Frank headed towards an ally, exactly as planned. He felt a strange pricking at the back of his eyes and his breathing quickened.

This was happening. He had to do it. If he didn’t Terry would kill him. He’d kill Ian. And he’d probably kill Frank anyway, so this was a wash.

His hand trembled on the gun.

_And the one person in this fuckin’ town who actually wants you around will never speak to you again_.

Mickey clenched his teeth and pulled the stupid rubber mask off his head and threw it in a nearby trash bin. He leaned over the bin, trying to slow his breathing. Frank stumbled off.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he do it? As soon as Terry found out he’d...

A siren blared to Mickey’s right, and his attention snapped up. He tracked the cop car with his eyes, and a realization dawned on him.

There was one place Terry wouldn’t be able to get to him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and wiped at his eyes. He dropped the gun from his hand and into the trash bin. His body seemed to move independently of his thoughts.

“Hey! Officer!” Mickey called, walking towards the police car.

An officer looked over and started to walk towards him.

Mickey grinned and balled up his fist.

“Oink, oink.”

He swung hard and connected with the cop’s jaw. The man fell hard, and before Mickey knew it, he was pressed to the ground too, another officer holding his hands behind his back.

Mickey couldn’t help but laugh.

“This violating my probation?”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, full disclosure, I have two degrees in applied mathematics, so that's how you ended up with the disection of conics that no one asked for. Sorry guys, I'll work harder at killing my darlings.
> 
> Also, if just one person gets my Gallagher/watermelon joke I will be quite pleased.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I hope to write again soon. TTFN, and please comment - I read them all!


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